


This Is My Blood, This Is My Bone

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Also Rhaegar is busy rebelling, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, the plot is basically Rodrik trying to prank Lyanna and landing everyone in trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Embroiled in a scheme transcending the narrow limits of her meagre expectations, Lyanna learns that even the most simple of situations hides veiled complexities. Returning to her childhood home, children in tow, while her husband rides off to war, she is faced with a choice she never thought she would have to make: her erstwhile family or the family she built. If she were any lesser, she might have felt comfortable allowing things to follow their own course. Unfortunately for the well-laid plans of others, it just so happens that not only the living have interests in these matters.AU! The Starks of old value blood over anything else. And for that they are willing to pay any price. Is Lyanna?





	1. i.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The warm summer breeze wafted in gentle waves. The smell of sweet grass abounded. Lyanna glanced up from her work for a moment, searching for her son. Or rather searching for Ser Darry who has offered to walk the few steps away with the boy until she had given her daughter the attention due to her. Granted, the fussy little thing was proving harder to placate than she had anticipated and her somewhat tired mind protested violently at having to put up with a bundle of prettily wrapped demands. Babes, however, did not quite care how long into the night their mother had poured over ledgers, how many times she had moved back and forth between wheelhouse and camp or how the weeping grated on her nerves. No, babes cared that their needs be fulfilled.

Rhaenys, satisfied for the moment, drew back. The released flesh smarted from tiny teeth chewing on it. Lyanna winced and wondered whether it might have been a smarter move to leave her to the wetnurse. She nevertheless handed Rhaenys to the septa standing at her side. The woman took her from Lyanna's arms and she experienced a stab of annoyance as the whimpered showed its effects upon her. With quick movements she tugged the cloth of her chemise over her chest, tying the ribbons in a neat bow. The cyrtle's side-laces she managed to tie with some difficulty as the fabric rubbed over her abused skin, chafing at the wounds. Thankfully, the sting eased after a few moments.

"You may take her to the wheelhouse," she indicated, needing a few moments to just breathe. "I doubt she will have trouble sleeping now." She might well pass her fully into the care of her wetnurse. After all, tarrying gave her nothing and she would sooner have a toothless child suckling at her breast rather than a being stabbed by pearly little knives. An uncharitable view though it was, pained and tired she did not feel as though she could face the responsibility head-on and not crumble beneath its sheer weight.

Lyanna stood from the tall grass, drawing her shawls around her shoulders. She tucked the ends under her girdle and dusted off her skirts, before straightening her shoulders, gaze trailing after her son who had found a nice patch of heather to inspect to his heart's content. Jonothor Darry stood a short distance away, close enough to intervene at the first sight of danger. Of course he need not have bothered. It was the case that the King's Road was safer than it had ever been.

"You know," her brother's voice broke through the fog of her thoughts, "it might not be the best of ideas to linger overlong." Benjen's hand came down upon her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. "You never know what might be lurking in the shadows." He proceeded to make a few soft sounds, as though trying to bring forth the fears of childhood. Lyanna snorted at his attempt and jokingly slapped his hand away.

"I take it we are ready to leave?" He nodded. Lyanna smothered a sigh. "Just as soon as I have collected my son."

She took small steps, pins and needles stabbing her soles. Her only consolation was that she would soon enough be within the safety of her childhood home. Jon turned to glance over his shoulder, giving her a wide grin before he dashed over to the knight and spoke a couple of words. She assumed he was taking his leave of the man, as he was wont to do. Lyanna had attempted explaining it was not necessary to do so, but given the boy was as stubborn as a mule she would have a better time of it moving mountains.

A small smile flittered across her lips as the boy ran back to the heather and broke a few stems before making his way, hurriedly, up to her. He pressed the flowers into her hand with a small explanation and she picked him up into her arms, holding him gingerly to her chest. "I think they are the prettiest flowers I have ever received."

Pleased by the praise, he rested his head on her shoulder, kicking one leg back and forth past her side. One should not forget that he had been promised a ride on his father's steed, which accounted for that behaviour. Nevertheless, she wished he wouldn't catch her every so often. With a soft sigh he turned her attention to the conversation sparked between her closest kin.

"Every horse?" her son was asking, clearly awed by whatever proposition her brother had put forth.

"Yes, Your Grace. The road is long. There is plenty of time." The thought of Jon clambering atop every single beast making up the riding party gave her pause. "But then it might be better to simply pick the better horses."

Jon had a ready answer, "Father's is best."

"His Grace's," Lyanna corrected. "You must call him His Grace when speaking of him to others."

"His Grace's," her son murmured apparently chastened. Any intervention of hers would not help if Rhaegar kept forgetting to correct the child as well.

"Lya, Lya," Benjen laughed gently, "can you not wait for a few years before filling his head with all that court protocol?"

"Can you not mind your own business?" she retorted, throwing her brother a sharp look. "Might be father should have taken a switch to you more often than he did. It might have taught you some humility."

"Ever cheerful, dearest sister, but you must call him lord father when speaking of him to others." Gods, but he did have a gift for needling her. Down to reproducing the lilt of her voice. Unable to help herself, she giggled. "My win, I believe."

"It is not at all the same thing." No one had ever scrutinised her address to her father. Everybody would do so for her son. He was, in the King's words, too much of a Northerner to be easily accepted. What was so wrong about helping the boy fit in? At the very least his manners should suggest he'd been raised in accordance to proper custom and that his mother, though a Northerner savage she might be, could fare as well as any Southron miss.

"You know it is," Benjen insisted as they reached Rhaegar.

Mounted, her husband presented an even larger advantage of height than usual. Lyanna craned her neck to look up at him, as he stared questioningly at the three of them. "A little early in the day to fratch," he said, reaching out for Jon. "Although if there is to be a quarrel, I insist I not be kept out of it. The Seven know one needs the exercise."

"Your Grace, my sister does not put up with petty squabbles, she merely corrects those of us who need it." She would dearly have liked to correct him with a slap to the back of the head at that moment.

Her husband chuckled as he settled Jon before him, allowing the boy to wrap his tiny fists around the reins. "Hold those for me," he said before returning his attention to the two of them. "Then you must consider yourself admonished, ser."

"Oh, I do. I do," her brother assured, to her great annoyance affecting a subdued attitude.

"That is enough out of you," she turned on her brother, pushing him away. "Go see to your horse lest he throws a shoe." Benjen left with a laugh and a low whistle. Alone, or as alone as one could be surrounded by people, with her husband, Lyanna crossed her arms over her chest. "I hope Your Grace was entertained."

"You always lift my mood, lady wife." The words should have soothed her. But whatever devil took her over, she instead found cause for complaint. That much must have shown in her face, for her husband touched a hand to the top of her head. "I think your lady mother is upset, son. What should we do about it?"

"Ask her why," Jon answered without hesitation. Rhaegar did that. He knew very well she could not resist when her children were involved. "Why are you sad, lady mother?"

"I am just a little tired." Rhaegar stroked along her tresses. She had the inexplicable urge to push his hand away. Where had the worry been the previous night? "In fact, I had best climb into the wheelhouse. It looks as though we are about ready to leave."

"That might be best," her husband offered. "I will not keep him long, but try to rest for a bit." She would have liked it much better if she could hear some praise for him. Hadn't she, after all, worked her fingers to the bone? A small nod was her answer before she took off, not even wishing her son a pleasant ride.

Ser Arthur helped her up into the monstrous construction, seeing as the steps which ought to have made the climb more palatable were missing. She murmured her gratitude before closing herself within, along with the septa and her daughter. As she had expected, Rhaenys slept soundly, tired from a night of wailing and demanding attention and sated after her meal. There was so very little to do but sleep for her.

"I will close my eyes for a bit," she told Ellen. The woman nodded in her perfunctory manner, assuring her in a low voice that she might as well sleep as long as she could. Lyanna did not disagree. Ellen was trustworthy. She feared no ill befalling her daughter as long as the woman was with her.

And so, she slept. For how long, Lyanna was unable to tell. But if must have been a few good hours for the hand upon her shoulder alerted her most insistently that it was time to wake. She opened her eyes with some difficulty, loathe to part from sleep's sweet embrace. "Your Grace, 'tis time you woke. We are nearing Winterfell." She winced, moving her hand to the back of her neck, pressing a tender spot as she straightened herself in preparation.

"Pray give the child to me and help me don the veil." The septa nodded. Though not a maid by training, she could and frequently did aid in such matters. Lyanna turned jupon the stool, allowing her hair to be tugged and fashioned into appropriate form. Northerner custom, though frequently more relaxed, would not make the right sort of impression. She felt the comb secure the mass of hair and then soft gossamer fell lightly upon head, held in place by a thin thread of silver.

Rhaenys, content to be held at her mother's breast, idly plucked at the cloth of her cyrtle and she wondered whether it was the best approach to keep the child in her arms. But the girl did not seem of a mind to cause trouble and she confessed she enjoyed hugging her close without tears and whines between them. "Did you sleep as well, my sweet?" she asked of her daughter, lifting her face so their eyes might meet. Rhaenys gave a nod, content to leave sounds for another time. The peaceful moment stretched out, with Ellen working behind her still to smooth out wrinkles.

"There, now, Your Grace, I believe we are done." She offered her gratitude, thinking all the while that she might persuade the woman to come into her service in a more permanent manner. After all, the Queen could well find another companion and if she did not mean for Lyanna to have Ellen she would have protested at the very notion of separation.

"What do you say, Rhaenys, does mother look pretty?" Her daughter garbled the word back at her, and no better could she have done with half a fist in her mouth. "You look very pretty as well, poppet, and I bet you will hear this a time or two again." She kissed the top of her head, allowing the child to rest against her shoulder after.

How two siblings could look so very different and act in such divergent manners she vowed she could not tell. Her own brothers were united in their views, even when they chose to act in slightly differing manners. And at least they looked like siblings. If she did not know any better, she would say at least one of her children was a changeling.

Small fingers fisted into the material cover her shoulder. Lyanna wondered whether the lace would rip, but then Rhaenys' grip had little force to it. At worst she would crumple it. She felt the wheelhouse slow to a halt and knew the time had come.

The door was opened and light flooded within. Or rather half-light as the sun was beginning to set. The orange glow tugged at the hem of her skirts, lighting the silver thread on fire. Without relinquishing her daughter she wondered, belatedly, why Rhaegar had not returned their son and how Jon had behaved. But then she was fully bathed in the calm glow of a cheerful sunset and a smile bloomed upon her lips at the sight of her kith and kin all about her.

Her father stepped forth and she took a moment to assess him. Thin and gaunt, he showed clear signs of having battled for his life recently. Yet he strode to her with the same sure step she had come to expect of him and her smile merely widened as the prickling of tears pinched at the corners of her eyes.

"Sweet Lya," he greeted, voice booming, scratchier than before, but close enough that it brought memories of childhood.

"Father," she squeaked, wondering at the fact she had not started to blubber like a babe the moment his arms closed around her. Rhaenys gave a loud protest at the effusive display, reminding her that she had yet to introduce her daughter to the preset company. "This is your granddaughter, father."

"Yes, I thought that might be the case. A man cannot ask for better than to be surrounded by kin in his old age. I am glad you have brought the children along." He reached out and stroked Rhaenys' blonde curls. "And what might your name be, sweet pea?"

"Aenys," Rhaenys murmured with uncertainty, looking at Lyanna as though to beg her help.

"A very pretty name for a very pretty girl," her father chuckled.

Before he could get another word in, Brandon interceded impatiently, "Then you would do well not to keep her all to yourself, lord father." He strode next to father, leaning in to get a better look at her daughter. "Fine children you've there, sister mine. That little tyke of yours sits a horse better than Ned or Ben could ever hope. And this little lady is bound to break some hearts." Rhaenys preened at the obvious attention.

"Well, you've a couple of ladies of your own," she said. Brandon dropped a kiss upon her cheek.

She turned to see her husband had been caught in conversation with a small group, amid which were Ned and Benjen. When she glanced back Catelyn Tully stood next to her husband as father excused himself, taking Brandon along. Lyanna nodded and granted full attention to her good-sister whose hands were full with two flame-haired girls. The first was about Jon's age and her bright blue eyes took in the display in the courtyard with obvious interest. The other clung to her mother's skirts, seeming more interested in the decorated hems than she was in anything else.

"Cat," Lyanna spoke cheerfully, leaning to exchange a warm greeting with her good-sister. "My, what pretty company you keep."

"Not more so than you," the other laughed. "Might be little Rhaenys would like to meet Serena and Arrana." Lyanna placed Rhaenys down, so she might be at the same level as the other girls without withdrawing her support.

"Did you hear, Rhaenys, these are your cousins, Serena and Arrana. Best you greet them nice now." She smiled at the girls, noting even the shyer one was looking at her. "I am your aunt Lyanna," she clarified lest they be in doubt about approaching her. Without further thought she held one arm open in invitation and Catelyn prodded her daughters to step forth just as Lyanna allowed her own daughter to be pressed into her aunt's arms. She hugged both girls and pressed father-light kisses to their cheeks.

Greetings out of the way, the children were placed into the care of their septas, the two women measuring one another as opponents on the battlefield might do. "You don't think there will be trouble here, do you?" Lyanna questioned her good-sister discreetly.

"I can never tell with Septa Mordane. But I will have words with her, never fear. Better yet, come and greet the others as well, for they have all been over the moon at word of your visit." Pleased with the notion, Lyanna agreed, allowing herself to be pulled along and thrown into a throng of familiar faces. It did seem Catelyn had told the truth and her arrival had been anticipated. She spoke a few words to each and every man and women into her father's service and even accepted a pretty collection of flowers from a little girl whose obvious pride at having the gift accepted fairly made her glow.

All in all the rival was all she hoped it would be and much more. And before long she was thrown into company with Ned who had the gall to tease her for not riding into Winterfell. "I thought you swore nothing short of labour could get you off a horse's back," he spoke, merriment dancing in his gaze.

"One can mistake a matter every now and again, brother," she returned, allowing him to clasp her hand in his as he tugged her nearer so she might avoid colliding with a passing knight. "I was much too tired to ride. Let us just say I fully understand why undertaking such a journey is not oft done."

Understanding mellowed Ned's expression and he asked after her health in a gentle tone. "Oh no, you needn't worry. I am healthy as a, well, a horse, I suppose. 'Tis simply that the children demand much of my attention." And if not the children then her husband's ledgers. Unfortunately for her, his ledgers were all she had seen of him lately. The wretched man, she had tried explaining that Rhaenys had been a much easier birth than Jon.

"And as angry as a hornet, beside. Benjen has been telling me all about it." She bristled at his words.

"Benjen has no business discussing such things with you." Ned shrugged, neither agreeing, nor disagreeing. "You will see when you wed. Matters are not that simple." She accepted his gallantly offered aid of helping her up the stairs and into the great hall as they moved along with everyone else. Since formality seemed to have been pushed from the gathering, she did not dare suggest she would have liked it better if her husband was at her side. Much as she loved Ned, she was a married woman.

"Far be it from me to contradict my betters." There was only slight mocking in his tone. "I am glad nevertheless that His Grace has allowed this visit. Seeing you about court is nothing like seeing you here." Colour flooded her cheeks. She had tried giving her brother as much attention as possible when they had arrived to present Rhaenys to the King, but she could admit to herself she had been distracted and irritable, her fears never far behind.

"Ned, I have been meaning to tender my apology for my abominable behaviour at court." But her brother was already shaking his head, refusing to accept the words.

"What nonsense this. There is nothing to forgive." He patted her hand gently. "I am your brother, if I do not understand you, who will?" Shame swamped her. There must be something unnatural about her to see such reactions so easily riled by nothing more than a few words. Lyanna wrapped her fingers around his hand and squeezed. No matter, she would talk to mother as soon as she might and then, she could only do her best further on. "This does seem so much like a childhood memory," he commented as they took in the decorations about the great hall. "Father had everyone working hard. You sough have seen him, Lya. As soon as your arrival was a certainty he stalked to and fro barking commands. Just like the good old days."

"I hope you did not allow him to strain himself." It could not have been easy to recover as well as he had. Ned gave her a small smile but offered no comment. "The winter roses have not bloomed," she noted softly, looking at the more common counterparts visible in one or two places.

"Catelyn insisted we put those there. Women." Unable to help herself, she pinched the back of his hand. "What was that for?"

"For boorish behaviour. Truly, I expected better from you Ned." Once more he shrugged the light in his eyes not dimming a bit. Lyanna eased into a grin of her own.

A throat cleared somewhere near her and she turned, instinctively to the source. Rhaegar gave her a look she could not decipher. "Ser, I believe I have been patient long enough." He held his hand out to her, though he spoke to her brother still, "Would you not agree?" She clasped Rhaegar's hand with her own.

"I would not dare disagree. You will find me at Brandon's side, sister." She turned with a nod, feeling herself already being tugged away.

"Have I vexed you, Your Grace?" It was not like him to seek her out unless he had a matter to deal with that involved her. And she could not think of anything which would require her attention here.

But her husband merely arranged her hand upon his arm and frowned down at her. "I should like a few words before you retire this night; if you are amenable." Worry gripped her. In spite of that, she gave her consent. "Come then and sit by me, else I shall go the full evening without seeing you." She did not know what to make of such comments. They sounded innocent enough to be sure; and from time to time he would reply a very similar message. But he rarely if ever came to see her for the pleasure of her company.

She had come to expect it, thus, that matters were a certain way between them. "If Your Grace wishes for my company, I will not deny you."

Seated at the high table, with fine foods and good wine before her, Brandon to one side, Rhaegar to the other, she began once more mistrusting her company was of any import to the man she'd been wedded to. Lyanna sighed into her soup and tried to mask it with a belated swallow.

Brandon was occupied whispering into his wife's ear, no doubt some silly bit of nonsense by the way the woman smiled. Her brother, incapable of acting anything other than a stray gone a-begging, and he somehow managed to be that much better a husband. She pushed her soup away, leaving the spoon within the liquid.

"Did you burn your tongue?" her brother questioned, apparently aware of her movement.

"Yes. I confess I should have paid more attention." Only after the words had left her mouth did she realise she had taken a few spoonfuls of soup before with nary sign on a burn in sight. Brandon seemed to take pity on her for he pressed no further, although by the knowing gleam in his gaze, she'd be hearing about scalding soup for the rest of her days.

"Have some wine." He pressed a cup in her hand and she was about to refuse, on account of her duties to Rhaenys. But what could one cup hurt? Certainly, her lady mother had suggested one might do well to abstain, and she had, for long enough. She took a sip of the sweetened beverage. "It is to your liking, I take it?"

She nodded her gratitude, before putting the cup from her mouth. "Indeed, 'tis very good."

The night wore on, with partners coming and going, wine flowing and food being ever abundant. Only she and Rhaegar did not switch seats, not that it mattered as everyone at the very least paused by them to exchange a few words. By the end of it she felt exhausted and overheated. No complaint left her lips as it grew later and later for she noted Rhaegar had refused to have his cup refilled which was a sure sign that they would be departing for their respective chambers soon enough.

Her instinct proved right when her husband rose, a soft invitation upon his lips."We are most pleased by these proceedings," he spoke to her father, "and hope, certainly, to continue in the same vein in the future. For now, however, the day has been long and eventful."

"And the charms of a warm bed much too inviting," a drunk commented, full of meaning. Roars of laughter rewarded the timely words. Lyanna blushed to the tips of her ears, finding the situation equally embarrassing and amusing.

"Hold that tongue of yours Syms," Brandon hurled over the noise, "least I cut it out for you."

"Leave him be, ser. Being the envy of most men in the hall is not the worst fate to have been dealt." So the banter went. Lyanna pursed her lips to keep from smiling. If only there was truth behind the statement.

Her husband encircled her waist with one arm, fingers resting along the line of her plunging girdle. They left the revellers to their merriment, and with good wishes and one or two more jests about accommodating hosts and comfortable featherbeds they too were allowed to pass. Being back home was equal parts exhausting and exciting. She would have to postpone visiting mother in her abode, but other than that it had all gone well, if she could say so herself.

"I should stop by the nursery," she muttered as they mounted the stairs.

"Don't fret. The children are well cared for." Men, forever thinking that servants knew where everything went without any directions. Seeing no need to enlighten her husband as to the truth, Lyanna simply dug in her heels on that particular wish and repeated that she would be stopping by the nursery. "The devil you say, lady," her husband snorted with obvious amusement. "We'll drop by the nursery then."

As good as his word, he allowed her to lead the way to the wing containing the nursery. Lyanna went in, allowing him the choice to follow or not. She walked past the two women who stood to greet her with a nod and a smile, and made for her son and daughter. They were sleeping peacefully, to her relief.

"I hope the children were not too much trouble," she spoke to the women.

"Not at all Your Grace. Wee lambs the lot of them." Septa Mordane was not quite as fearsome as she had first thought and Ellen seemed content.

"And glad I am to hear so. Ellen, on the morrow move Rhaenys' cradle in my chamber for the day. I should like to spend some time with her." Likely as not Catelyn would not mind either.

"As Your Grace wishes."

Lyanna kissed each child, whispering to them of sweet dreams before she took her leave of the women. Rhaegar had been standing in the doorway, watching the unfolding scene with some attention. But much like a heathen faced with holy ground, he did not trespass.

"Well then, lady wife, are you pleased?" he asked once they were in the hallway, the door shut firmly in their wake.

"Pleased?" she echoed, not certain what he was asking after. Deciding against further inquiry she allowed that she was pleased. "But as you have said, the day has been long. I shall be even more pleased to have a pillow beneath my head." She paused, remembering his request. "After, of course, we have had our conversation."

Lyanna half expected that he would retire to his own chamber and allow her some time to prepare herself. Instead, he simply followed her within her own bedchamber and locked the door behind them. She opened her mouth to express her confusion but thought better of it before the words managed to make their way out. "Well then, Your Grace?"

He gave her a look, as though asking for her patience before he sat upon a spindly-legged chair. "There are some matters I have not made known to you, lady, and I believe the time has come we speak of them."

She sat down upon the edge of the bed, putting enough distance between them to safely endure whatever he wished to impart. "If Your Grace wishes. I am all ears." She placed her hands in her lap, feeling very much on edge.

"You will not be surprised to hear I have brought you here for your own protection. Your father will remain here along with a small number of the men. I am leaving Ser Darry as well for your protection, but this still does not solve the matter of my possible death."

Her first instinct was to protest. But if he meant to wrest power from his father, the venture might well end in bloodshed. She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep from speaking. "Your brothers ride with me. Provisions have been made for both you and Jon in my will. He will take the throne should I die and you are to sit as part of the regent council. One of your brothers will be required to aid you in that, there will also be Lord Steffon and Lord Whent. I trust they will watch out for your best interests."

"And what am I to do beside twiddle my thumbs and wait for your return, Your Grace? Surely there are still some matters I may take over until I know whatever fate the gods have decided for you." She had thought it rather strange to see some familiar faces in the hall, mostly high-ranking men at arms in the retinue of other lords. And she had guessed Rhaegar had finally accepted to come to Winterfell for a purpose other than allowing her to visit kin.

"If you've the time, there are indeed a few matters which could use your attention." While she knew there would be more than enough for her to do in truth, she could not help but feel annoyed that he would come to her with word of his plan so late. She listened nonetheless for there was nothing else to do by that point.

In the end, he would do as he wished and she had but to take a knee and throw herself upon the mercy of the gods. "When do you ride?"

"Not for a few days." How strange. He was making a momentous leap, a step which could change their lives forever, yet he remained calm, collected, discussing his plans with her as one might the supper menu. One of these days she would learn to do the same. "It would be highly suspicious otherwise."

"He could win. If he wins," she trailed off. If the King managed to smother his son's campaign she would be a traitor's widow at best and a traitor herself at worst. Her family would be executed, there was no question about that. And the gods knew, she hadn't another place to go with her children.

"He shan't. Not without Tywin Lannister." What had Tywin Lannister to do with it. Angry and confused Lyanna stood to her feet, drawing her shoulders back to display her full height.

"I did not know you were a soothsayer, Your Grace." His lips curled in a lax smile, as though her worry counted not at all with him. "Tywin Lannister," she snorted. "Tywin Lannister is an ambitious man. And your father has another son. I encourage you to consider the matter most earnestly."

"My poor, sweet Lyanna; Tywin Lannister knows he cannot have the throne at this point. He will make do with another trade. And I shan't worry about him aiding my father. Sometimes a man will accept a smaller victory in lieu of a bigger, costlier one." He stood as well, approaching much in the manner of her father. The certainty of his step was of no comfort to her. "Lady wife, your lack of faith is concerning. Do you think I would fall so easily?"

"I think any man too proud will be struck by the gods at some point." His hands rested upon her shoulders, fingers giving a gentle squeeze.

"Pride one bases on merit is not begrudged by the gods. I know you worry, and with good reason. But I will do my best to survive. And if the gods do decide to strike me down, you will carry on." He did not address her fear of his father winning. Tywin Lannister was only one lord. There were others. Some would inevitably side with the King. Lyanna shuddered. Her husband stroked along her arms, keeping the pressure even. "I am soothsayer, as you have pointed out, but danger is not limited to the battlefield. And we stand to win so much."

What was she to do if he died, Lyanna truly did not know. She would have her spot as regent and she might even have the support of her brothers, but these men would chiefly be concerned with their own. As it should be. She had left her house the moment he pinned a three-headed dragon to her back. Three years and all of them for nothing. "Very well, then, Your Grace. Do as you think best."

He gripped her hands, warmth radiating off his skin. "I vow your moods are more terrifying than a raging storm at sea. I do not ask that you agree with my decision. I am merely telling you what my intentions are." She nodded sharply. "And as my wife, I expect you will lend your public support should discussion arise."

"I wish you had told me you meant to do this." His thumb caressed over the back of her palm.

"So you might fret and make yourself ill with worry?" She opened her mouth to protest. "None of that, lady. I am not one of your admirers like to fall for empty words." He knew her well enough, that she could not deny. "Now it is done. Put away your discontentment and come rest. We can argue more on the morrow if you've a taste for it."

"I would rather we never argued, Your Grace."

"I should never get a meaningful word out of you if we did not," he jested, clearly not perceiving the seriousness of the situation.

"Is meaningful words what you wish for? I have some for you; if you do not return to me alive, I vow I shall throw myself upon the mercy of the first knight that steps in my path. I refuse to mourn someone who would heedlessly throw his life away."

"What a hussy you are." He drove her mad. Lyanna could not tell if she wanted to laugh or cry. "I'd best return then, shall I? Alas, you may not like the result of such urging." She gave him a suspicious look. He did not elaborate. She likewise decided against belabouring the point. He would hear an earful on the morrow once she was rested. And she hoped she would at least drive him at least half as mad as he did her. Beastly man, so sure of himself. Well, it would serve him well the gods taught him a lesson.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. ii.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sept was small. Lyanna sat down upon the bench, head bowed in what ought to look like prayer. She had not yet worked up the courage to visit mother. Hands resting on her lap, she glanced at her own fingers, hard at work, contemplating her current situation. It seemed so very strange, the knowledge that she had been a married woman for these three years. When in her younger years, Winterfell had not had a sept. It had been unnecessary. Her fingers flexed, digging into the fine cloth of her cyrtle. 

Winterfell yet had no need of any sept. She had not said as much to her good-sister. Catelyn Tully for all her qualities, remained eminently perfect to suit her role. Why burden her? A small sound from behind had her lifting her head. She glanced at the shadows, gaze narrowing. Her lips drew in a tight line.

“Is it so very bad that you must seek solace in such a gloomy place?” Her husband stepped out from the shadow. The riders must have returned. How had she missed the sound of hooves pounding the earth. Rewarding his appearance with a stare devoid of meaning, she waited for him to state his business. Anger did not impress the man, and being better rested than the previous day, she managed a more refined display. He was her husband, after all.

Rhaegar walked towards her, his expression calm, equally devoid of interpretable meaning. He say down, one hand settling lightly upon her knee. She swallowed the urge to glower. Easy, she demanded of her temper; easy did it, after all. His fingers applied more pressure, a feather’s weight. “Why did you not go to the godswood?” The pearls sewn into the body of the curled wolf grated against the metal of his rings. Lyanna returned her stare to her lap and lifted her shoulders ever so gently. She felt his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her head to lift. What did he want?

“Answer me.” His voice was soft. Lyanna wanted to look away and she would have except that he was issuing an order. Too used to obedience, she blinked gently. “What did I say, little she-wolf?”

“To answer.” He nodded and the grip became more demanding. “I wanted solitude.” His grip did not relax. “I wished for silence.” Even if a thousand eyes were pinned to her back. His other hand rested upon her side, fingers fiddling with the thin gold line of her girdle. What did the man find so interesting about that, she could not tell. The eyes of the weirwood burned her with its questions. Her husband’s flayed her with equally difficult queries. “Must you take that from me?” Flushing, Lyanna wished to draw away. But Rhaegar was not the man to let go unless he wanted it.

“I can take whatever I want from you, can I not? It is my right as your lord and husband.” The rush of his breath felt warm against her face as he ceased speaking. “But I would rather have them from you at your decision.”  When she had wedded him, Lyanna had not understood the distinction. His fingers slipped away from her chin, flying to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. “Your son had been rather agitated. He refused any attempt at calming him.”

“You ought to have taken him riding then.” There were not speaking of Jon. She knew without a shred of doubt that her son had immersed himself in play with the children of the keep, sons and daughters of retainers. His fingers pressed one by one into her skin. Another might have mistaken it for a lover’s caress. Lyanna, well aware her husband hadn’t a human bone in his body, simply leaned slightly in. “He enjoys ever moment he spends with his father.”

Something shifted in his gaze. “One wonders.” She would not aid him in understanding. Instead she smiled and pulled away. Standing to her feet, she shook out her skirts. His hand was still upon her girdle. In the low light of burning sconces, she could almost convince herself that it was something there was not.    

“Do you doubt him?” He chuckled. Sometimes she did not know what to make of him.

“I am not the one who doubts.” Lyanna flinched.  But then she was a foolish woman, useless in her own fashion, and could not make any manner of attack upon the accusation. He stood as well, letting go of her middle. “Come ride with me.”

“If Your Grace so desires.” He dragged her in his wake, tugging her into the daylight. Lyanna trembled at the assault of the sun upon her eyes and was not at all surprised to see two young pages holding a pair of geldings in hand. “Where are you taking me?”

“Patience, lady wife.” He shooed away the younger of the boys, lifting her atop the beast himself. “You will see what there is to see.” He then mounted his own creature.

“Your Grace, there are no guards.”

“We do not need them.” He turned the horse around, reaching for her own reins. As before, he pulled her in his wake. By the gods, did the man have some gall. Without guards in a foreign land. Only a madman would take off like that. Her eyes fell to the sword he kept in his saddle. At length, she pulled her attention away and forced herself to simply accept the path. She knew the road he took almost as well as she knew her own heart, although she did expect there were one or two surprises left for her.

Bringing the both of them safely into a small meadow, private and hidden from sight, Rhaegar brought both horses to a halt and dismounted with easy. He dusted invisible lint from his garb and took a few moments to breath in the cool air. She slid out of her own saddle, not waiting for his intervention. The whoosh of her skirts did not attract his gaze, but she did notice his shoulders tensing.  

He turned slowly. “At long last. We may speak.” His gaze hardened as though water turned to bone. And there she’d thought it was her domain, that of winter. A tremulous smile stretched her lips for she had no good answer to give. And no children to shield her from whatever displeasure she’d managed to incur. “What master do you serve now, woman?”

“The same one I have ever served,” she answered primly. Her fingers itched to grab onto something and tug herself out of the tight corer. It was not to be. “The only one I shall ever serve.” A plague, his lack of trust along with hers. She wished she could make a clean breast of it. Nonetheless, she had to strive on.

“Mistress of vague answers though you might be, I ask you again, and be certain to give me straight answer lest you wish to never be capable of doing so again; what master do you serve?” He reached out for her and his finger placed themselves beneath her elbow. The thick wool covering her arm scratched against her flesh even through the thin silk of her chemise. Her smile morphed into something real, the warmth tangible. She hoped it licked against his fingers as sure as the sun caressed the tops of their heads. She hoped he felt in his bones, if nothing else, that their master was one and the same.

“What question that. The only master worth serving; virtue.” Her eye bore into his and he held her gaze. Steady, sure, he nodded. She loved that in him; the raw power, the unrelenting strength of his conviction, so few were those who in the face of a howling, raging enemy did not back away. Between the two of them some manner of understanding presented itself, pressing their wills together.

“Then, good lady wife, why is it that wherever I turn my head your words haunt?” And that was the crux of the matter, was it not? “I told you I shan’t accept doubt of you. Falter now and you damn us all. If you would see us all dead, then I beg of you, throw yourself upon my father’s mercy.” She met his demand with a hiss and turned her palm to touch the cloth upon his skin; her fingers dug into his flesh.

“Forgive my weakness if you can,” she spoke softly. “If I waver, I do so on account of a woman’s soft heart. I do not know how my words went beyond the chamber walls, yet I will combat them however you deem fit.”

“I ride regardless of your feelings upon the matter, Lyanna. I cannot stop this plan for it is already in motion and even if I could, it shan’t happen.” Her understanding replete, Lyanna could do little but give him his due. “I need your strength. I need your trust. And I need your obedience. If you cannot give these to me, speak now.” He spoke quietly, as though commenting upon the weather and not asking for absolutes. Softening, his grip relaxed about her and the hands fell to her hips, pulling her in a loose embrace. He did that too from time to time.

“I shall only speak to say that I am yours, Your Grace, and shall do as it please you.” She felt his lips play against the line of her hair. His lips were warm, slightly-chapped and a bit too try. The wind must have wrought some trouble for him. She enjoyed the attention and burrowed deeper into his hold. It stood on the tip of her tongue to demand further affection. But he would only give as much as he wished to.

“Lady, one day you shall turn me inside out.” His lips slid lower, the gesture more a caress than a kiss. She allowed that as well. And when he pressed his lips to hers, lifting her off the ground, she could not help but giggle. They must have made quite the sight.

“I look forward to that,” she admitted without an ounce of hesitation. He had told her when he wedded her that for the moment she was not wedded to a man, but to a prince and he would remain a prince until he could be king. But in some moments he was still very much a man with her, to her. Her hands moved to cup his face. “You should put me down, Your Grace.”

“There is no one here,” he laughed, lifting her even higher in spite of her protests. What did it matter who was about?  “And I may hold you however I wish.” So he kissed her yet again and she gripped his shoulders to aid herself in keeping upright. Not that she needed to, for her husband, quite superior to her in height and strength, was not like to drop her.

She allowed him his day in the sun, basking in the same glow as the thread of their interactions thinned further and further until there was nothing left but the ashes of a banked fire giving off dying sparks. “There are times when I cannot understand quite where you are coming from.”    

The neighing of the horses broke the moment, leaving her without any manner of explanation. In spite of that, Lyanna smiled at the annoyed look upon her husband’s face and thanked the gods once her feet were back upon the ground; much as she adored him, being held aloft was not quite her cup of tea. “Come, do not look so put out.” She withdrew towards her horse and took hold of the reins. “I shall wait for you come nightfall if that is your wish. My brother has no heir currently and if we are to remain in these parts my poor son will need a companion of his own blood.”

“You are certain?” By her reckoning, indeed. She nodded vigorously. “It is yet too dangerous. Pray consider the maester’s words, lady wife.” She did not care what the masters thought. They had not been in agreement with her desire to birth a babe after Jon. They would not be in agreement this time either, she knew.

“I am certain, husband.” She turned to face him. “If not for Jon, then for yourself, Your Grace; for the dragon you so desire. Allow me to give you that and pay no mind to anything beyond this one desire of mine. And if it should bother Your Grace, then never will I ask anything like this of you in the future. If you go to war, give me that much.”

She had been frightened at Jon’s birth for the process had been an arduous one and the child, slightly bigger than anyone had anticipated, had been somewhat held back from arrival by the sheer size of his head. But that, her good-mother had suggested at the time, was to be expected; the first birthing was the most difficult. Rhaenys had indeed been that much easier upon her mother and it appeared that as such her father awarded her more outward attention. Yet she too had caused some troubles upon her coming and as such had sealed her mother’s fate.

Her thoughts had distracted her from the here and now. And that Rhaegar took much advantage of, ripping from her hold the reins of the horse and sending the creature cantering off. He did the same for his own steed. “What are you about?” she demanded. “How do we return?”

“On foot.” She grunted her displeasure, but he seemed pleased with his actions. “Don’t glower at me, woman. You grow cold in your anger and I mislike your mien.” She glared, not that it had much effect upon him. Instead, her man simply tsked in the face of her fury. In their battle of wills she would never truly be a victor, not on the face of it, for as she had been told time and again, she’d not married a man.

The one advantage woman had over man could not work if man clothed himself in the shell of prince, after all. She sighed, air expelled from their lungs upon a shivery little breath. “And I mislike your highhanded ways,” she answered in kind, though she lacked fire and spark. “This will take some time.” Lyanna was tempted to pout.

“Good. Time we have plenty of.” Until he rode away. She did not say that much out loud; it would serve for naught. She fell into step with him, measuring his speed against her own. Rhaegar gave her a sideways glance she could not interpret beyond the slight pain it caused in the cavity of her chest. That was, she supposed, her poor heart, twisting itself into knots over what was to come. War. She allowed herself to linger over the concept.

Might be he’d been much in the right to not let her know. And in truth she had never been interested in the little intrigues her husband spun. His schemes to grasp power eluded her in much the same manner sieges had for just as long. She’d never felt the same thrill, as Benjen obviously did, listening to tales of warring armies, or overrun keeps, nor had she ever recognised within herself the restless spirit guiding Ned, neither did she have Brandon’s indomitable drive. She had ever been the _she-wolf,_ kept away from harsh realities, shielded from the more unsavoury aspects of existence and by and large kept well away from struggles. 

In other words, she had never been pressed to face the troubles cropping up every now and again. In turn, she had accepted her husband’s guidance without question even as she had accepted her father’s, certain in her continued protection. There were matters she was not in agreement with, things she would have done very differently; but in the end the results had never been disastrous and she had simply been rewarded in her choice to let it go.

This war, the fight her husband proposed, would bring her face to face with her first ever loss. A loss she might have prevented had she insisted enough around her kin, around her man. To contend with the reality of her failure was to let go of what she loved and was reassured by, at least for a time, on the vague promise that it would be returned to her, in like condition. Rhaegar had never fought in a war before. Jousting did not count. Jousting had rules. There was no herald on the field of battle looking out to see whether the enemy dealt his blows in honourable fashion.

“Are you not frightened?” The question slipped without her wanting to. Mortification crept upon her. She’d forgotten for a moment that she spoke not to a friend.

“If I allow myself to linger over the fear, I am lost.” She started, head turning towards him. He was still just a man. She allowed herself some hope. “I have observed, however, that even in the blackest night, with attention one may still receive guidance.”

She had been meant to be a check to his ambitions. It seemed that all she had done was spur him on. Why had the King not seen the potential danger? She considered the question for a moment. Her good-father, much as she was loathe to admit it, knew his way about an intrigue. And he was hardly blind. If he had allowed Rhaegar to walk away, it was with some plan in mind. She could only hope that whatever it was, the son would not come out the worse for it.

“Then, Your Grace, pray leave the terror with me when you ride. I shan’t crack under its pressure.” He met her promise with a grateful expression. She thought she might even let him go with a less heavy heart.

 What a very strange thing it was. She wished she understood it better.   

She paused midstep, shivering gently as a gust of wind tugged upon her tresses. _Beware!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, of course there will be a lengthy explanation in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, OMG!!!, someone put my story in a collection. This is like the first time it happened to me. Thanks, whoever you are.


	3. VERY IMPORTANT

Hi everyone,

Sol here. So, I’m sure you’ve heard about the new link-tax and copyright reform the EU is looking to introduce into the member states of the union. To those of you who haven’t or are not from the EU, basically this new piece of legislation is looking into regulating all activities dependent on content (be it videos, songs, news articles, books etc). They would do that by monitoring what the users of a platform post and if copyrighted content is determined to be used, it would be considered criminal activity.

The only way it wouldn’t be deemed criminal activity is if the users paid a tax (hence why we call it a link-tax).

The vote will be held on the 20th of June and in case the law gets passed, I think it’s obvious I won’t be able to post anymore on any platform (be it this or FF.net or some other site). So what happens is this:  I am starting to archive all of my fics. Those of you who want to request a certain fic can find me [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Further updates information is: [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Questions are welcome, but for discretion’s sake, sensitive ones are better posted on discord, or if you must on my e-mail address.

Thank you for your time and sorry to bring you somewhat unpleasant news.

P.S. Every story with more than 20 subs will get a post like this. If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. I’ll take them down after the 20th.


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